


like hansel and gretel (but not)

by quietlyintoemptyspaces



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hansel and Gretel, Bad Witch, Blood Brothers, Bonding Through Murder, Cannibalism, Children, Dark, Flash Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietlyintoemptyspaces/pseuds/quietlyintoemptyspaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison pulls him back. “Don’t let it touch you,” she says. He’d like to ask how she knows, but they don’t have much time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like hansel and gretel (but not)

**Author's Note:**

> It's short. It was going to be longer but i had no idea how to continue. 
> 
> I started on this - you'll never guess - while watching Hansel and Gretel. My favorite part of the movie was the exploding guy. I don't know, i have a dark sense of humor.
> 
> Maybe its just warped in general.
> 
> Anyway, its Allison and Stiles bro time.

Stiles and Allison meet when they’re ten years old. They are but two children in a long line of too many, waiting their turn to be cooked and eaten. Everybody’s chained together, two by two, boy and girl, and Stiles has been paired with Allison. She’s not crying, like some of the others. Instead she looks determined, and Stiles is kind of glad he’s stuck with her, because maybe that means they have a fighting chance.

It takes too long to get to the door, but when they do, Stiles finally gets to see the hag that wants to eat them. She – probably she, but it’s hard to tell – is nothing but wrinkled, pale skin, with greasy stringy hair and broken teeth and gnarled nails. She puts them to work, one carrying wood to the fire, the other scraping what’s left of the last kids out of the oven. Allison gets that job, and when the hag’s back is turned, she tosses a sharpened, blackened bone to Stiles who immediately starts jimmying it into the lock chained around his wrist.

“Young, tender flesh,” the hag hisses, smoothing a fingernail down Allison’s cheek where she stands by the oven, Stiles at her back. He’s not free yet, so he guesses Allison’s buying him time. There’s a poker by his feet, hot from the coals and glowing red from the heat of the fire, and Stiles grins because he knows how this is going to end.

He drops a split log, and the only reason it’s not suspicious is because it’s not the first time he’s dropped something since being let inside. The hag hisses something at him, probably an insult at his clumsiness, but she doesn’t get more than a word out before Stiles is running her through with the fire poker.

She spits black sludge at him from her mouth and it’s sliding down towards his hands that are still wrapped around hot iron. Allison pulls him back. “Don’t let it touch you,” she says. He’d like to ask how she knows, but they don’t have much time.

Allison tosses the loose end of the chain over one of the rafters, and it’s longer than Stiles thought, because there’s still room enough to wrap the end that had been Stiles’ around the hag’ s throat and hoist her up. Stiles stands behind Allison and helps her, pulls at the chain so all the weight’s not on her wrist. The hag is deceptively heavy though, and there’s no way they can hold her like this until she stops kicking. There’s a shovel by the door.

Stiles makes a quick run for it, comes back and swings it at the hag.

“What the hell are you doing?” Allison yells at him. The momentum of the hag is pulling too hard on her wrist and Stiles curses at that. 

“Drop her,” he tells her. She’s right over the oven, and it shouldn’t take too much maneuvering to get her in there.

Stiles jabs with the sharp end of the shovel as soon as the hag is released and Allison works on freeing herself with the same bone she’d tossed Stiles just a few minutes ago. It’s felt a lot longer than that.

It takes the strength from both of them to get the hag into the oven, and then it’s just a matter of closing the door and keeping it closed and cranking up the heat. The hag screams and screams and screams until she’s finally done, and only then do Stiles and Allison dare to move away. They both have a burnt palm, sticky and red and bubbled. 

“Stiles,” Stiles says, offering up his burnt hand, and Allison does the same. It’s not until they’ve clasped injured hands and separated that she shares her name too.

“Allison.”

It’s the beginning of a beautiful brotherhood.


End file.
